


Fatal

by SpectralFossa



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Genji has some issues, Heavy Angst, Hurt, I promise it will probably be better, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, This Is Gonna Be Bad, Unrequited Love, implied suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralFossa/pseuds/SpectralFossa
Summary: How long will you drown before you learn to swim?





	1. Swords

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is really more of a vent piece for me, but after I finished it I decided to share and continue it. Not sure how long I'll make it, I'm fairly sporadic when it comes down to writing, but if you want to stick around that's cool. Anyway, enjoy. It felt good to get this down on paper. 
> 
> Also if you think of any other tags that I missed please let me know, I struggled with the tags super hard.

                Attraction, by definition, is a fickle and brutal thing. Catching its prey like spiders, relentless in the hunt, vicious in the kill -but damn, if that cold embrace wasn’t the most heated touch he had ever felt.

                Taboo. That was what it was, you couldn’t lay eyes on him without thinking how extravagant and downright exceptional his life was, but that meant nothing, honestly. Taboo. The word burned in his ears, burned as he flushed at the compliment.

“Well done, Genji.” It was so simple, but that tone, the way those cold eyes looked at him, the edges turning up in the way that was so distinctively his own. It was gorgeous, so gorgeous, wrong, so very wrong. It had caught him so dangerously off guard that he had been caught staring, that light hidden in dark brown eyes fading just as quickly as it had come. Distantly the young sparrow thought of how intimately that mimicked life.

“Feeling ill?” The words sounded hollow in his ears now, where had that spark gone? He knew he had made a dangerous error, staring was on that list, the one that he had made long ago when he realized this venom lurking in his blood. Do not stare, do not act out… it went on. So many things, so many lines, red tape encased his vision every turn he took, every hour he spent alone with his brother, every time he was invited to bathing, to outings, all of these things he dreaded. It felt like an eternity in his mind before he acknowledged his brother with a proper response, his own eyes having taken a hold of the distant cherry trees just beyond the high wall. They were in full bloom. It was truly gorgeous.

“No. Forgive me, I… Spaced out again.” A lie. Obvious at that. He felt that familiar twitch in his chest, a dark constriction of deceit. Often he would feel as such, lies encased his very being, kept him thrashing through his nights, restless and begging for sleep. The anxiety of being found out, of slipping up, of knowing that every little thing he did was a lie keeping his mind enthralled in the clutches of his darkest thoughts, seemingly unyielding.

“Genji.” The words came out like a hot poker, the kind to keep the fire alight. Why did he command such attention with that tone?

“Hmm?” The sparrow mused his response, giving away that false sound of lightheartedness he always wore. The mask he so desperately wanted to shatter. Such an idea, such a fantasy was surely far-fetched.

“Pay attention!” Pain. Instantaneous. The back of the head, his brother always did love to play mother to him, it was almost funny. One of the things he truly did admire him for. Always he was there, administering band-aids and scolding’s in equal parts. He was always so loving then, the way his brow would furrow and how his cheeks would flush red with irritation just under his eyes. Where he saw the age he had not yet grown in to begin to take over, long sleepless hours, training for an era where he would be the sole heir, where everything would fall onto his shoulders. How he pitied his brother some days, he was far too delicate for such things. At least, he saw him as such. Although, despite these thoughts he managed to take his gaze away from the wind sweeping through those precious pink petals if only to set his sights on something even more precious.

“I am, I am… Kuso, so ready with the reprimands today, Ani.” He joked again, his heart not in it. He felt the smile pull at his lips, really, he did, but he supposed that didn’t mean anything. Pain still resonated in his chest flooding every corner of thought with that sudden urge to run and hide. He felt this way often whenever he would catch those eyes staring him down the way they did in this moment. Cold and hard like the very earth beneath his feet. He truly was beautiful.

“Perhaps if you were more willing to keep your head about you instead of hanging on my compliments like a child I would not be so ready to do so. I swear, I can do nothing with you.” The katana grew heavy in his hands, the feeling of it like the weight of the world. Carrying him down into the ground itself. He was being so stupid, so, so, so stupid. He felt the edges of his eyes burn, knowing that what his brother said to him was painfully true, and what was worse -he had noticed. He… had he truly noticed though? Was it obvious? Could he tell? What would he do if he found out? He-

He had to slash the blade across the practice dummy in front of him, feeling that weight give, taking away something. The life of this dummy was useless, he felt nothing, knew nothing. What was it but its namesake? A dummy in all aspects and meaning of the word. He felt as such. His body lacerated with the wounds and blows he took from himself. Every doubt a blade to the skin, tracing along every curve of his hand, every beat of his heart. How deep were these wounds he wondered? Despite trying his hardest to keep himself from getting lost in the action of the sword play he felt heat resonate in his body. A firm hand gripping his shoulder and a shout into his mind, one that called him back from the spiral of his self-hate. That hand that reached out to him as he sunk further and further beneath the surface of himself, drowning in every feeling, in every emotion, in every little thing that he could possibly do wrong, in every-

“ _Genji!_ ” That tone. Worried.

Shame etched itself into his face like a carving, obvious, deep and drained of color. He finally came to himself and saw the damage he had done, the dummy was little more than the binds that held its now mangled corpse to the post, the stuffing and straw all strewn along the ground, some still grasping desperately to the group, trying to stay amass with the whole. How he saw himself in that dummy drew him deeper into himself. Had it not been for the hand that clutched his shoulder he was sure that he would have fallen back into that same train of thought, finding himself lost again.

“S-sorry, Ani.” He threw the blade down onto the ground and he turned, pulling his shoulder away from that touch that he so desperately needed. Sunk back into himself with the mask in place, he knew he had no choice but the confront his brother now. He smiled, hard line of his lips pulling back in a way that he knew was obviously fake. However, his brother seemed to accept it as real. Or, maybe he really couldn’t tell as well as he thought.

“I guess I got carried away there for a second.” A laugh. In his own ears it sounded like a choked cry, a pleading beg. He knew it didn’t sound that way out loud. His eyes were closed, if only for a second, and when he opened them he found that look again, the one that coupled that voice he had heard. The hand that had pulled him up for air. Worry and concern devoured Hanzo’s expression. The fear he saw hidden in his eyes brought that blade to his skin again, digging in. That pain in his chest returned, constricting, suffocating and threatening to leave him gasping for air. He had really fucked it up this time.

“Aah… Ani, don’t look so shocked. Didn’t know your lil bro could whack a dummy so good?” He spoke in the tone that he always used when Hanzo looked distressed, the goofy little voice that he had always used since they were kids. He even added a little laugh in at the end for good measure, the smile that played across his lips was painted perfectly, sharp canines and that one chipped tooth poking out from behind his lips like a practiced brush stroke. He wanted to cry, felt the pain of those held in tears burning him like hot needles against his skin. But he endured, and it was worth it.

Warmth encased him as he saw that rare sight of his brother’s smile come onto his face. He watched how he lifted his gloved hand, concealing those soft, thin lips behind it as one of the most _heavenly_ sounds graced his ears. That laugh, it was so pure. He could have spoken volumes about how much he loved to hear that sound but instead he only found himself laughing with him. Ernest and true, the laugh took hold of his chest and he felt it honestly for once. In that moment, he didn’t feel the crushing loneliness, didn’t feel like he was so dreadfully lost. How long had it been since he had seen that smile? _Heard that laugh?_ Felt as if he were truly walking with his brother in this dense forest of their lives, how long had it been since the wolves weren’t behind his heels, begging him to falter so they could be the first at his throat. He truly did not have an answer.

He allowed his laugh to die off in favor of keeping that weak smile plastered to his lips, watching how his brother now took those few steps towards him to engage and shrink the distance between them. An outstretched arm knocked against his muscled shoulder, a soft fist that had his smile softening.

“I think that’s enough training for now, let us go and find Father. Surely it is past time to eat.” He finished his statement with a decisive nod of his head, bangs catching against his cheeks in a way that had Genji’s fingers twitching to reach out and brush those strands back. But he held fast against the urge, instant loathing catching him by his heels. He watched absently as his brother walked away, a short bark of an acknowledged word following after him. He stands, stark still against the breeze that drifts down over the high walls. For once he takes note of how the air is sweet with the scent of those fallen petals he had been so fondly observing not too long ago. Briefly the thought occurs to him that the blossoms are the strongest when they’ve fallen, when they’ve been left to decay against the hard earth. Begrudgingly he holds that thought close to himself, clinging to it in a way that he is almost uncomfortable with. He waits for a moment, knees weakening under the pressure of all his thoughts, of how he had to play off his tantrum. Sad eyes shift heavily to the dummy, the inner workings of it still spilled out along the ground.

Blood and bone, a fear so encasing it leaves nothing for the young sparrow to fight with other than his own tears. He holds them back for as long as he can before he finds himself against the dummy’s post, hands clutching the top of it. He must hold them in, has to be strong, _no one can know_. He finds his gaze shifting to his katana, abandoned and alone on the ground a sharp reminder of himself. Thrown down with reckless abandon. His mind wanders, dark and finally alone, no hand or voice to pull him out of himself this time, nothing real for him to hold on to. He finds himself drowning in the thoughts of that weapon, the way the edge tore into the dummy, the way it could tear into him. The thought is fast, but it lingers, the wolves at his heels in the forest begging him to stumble, just once. To take one false step. The line he walks thin and invisible to all but himself. At some point he had slumped forward, now on his knees before the dummy, the white hakama no doubt being tinged brown by the stirred dirt at his feet. The straw recklessly scattered along the ground dug into the fabric, sticking into his knees and shins like pins, the feeling catching his attention as being sharper than it should have been. Was he so sensitive to pain? Perhaps he was imagining it. It did hurt, pain and redness seeped into his vision, now realizing he had grasped at his sword instead. How long? He wondered this but couldn’t find it in himself to actively seek an answer, instead finding himself grasping it harder.

How much would it take to slice his hand? The morbid thought made a sick laugh erupt past his thin lips, eyes closed now as he pulled away from the blade. Even with his eyes closed he could see the color, knowing full well he would need to think of yet another lie to cover this. It would be easy though. Easier than trying to explain a need to have his exterior hurt the same way his interior did. How could he describe the desire to be in pain? He feared pain, _hated it_. But there was just something about blood in his hand that made the pressure on his chest loosen, he could feel the breeze again, could smell the flowers. There was air, he wasn’t drowning anymore.

Tired brown eyes looked up, injured hand now resting on his thigh, the warmth of his blood seeping quickly into the white fabric of his hakama. He stared at the orange sky, the way the reds and golds seeped into it. _Gorgeous._

Everyone was waiting on him.


	2. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The thoughts and emotions were always too strong, the voice in his mind always screaming about how weak he was. A coward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya' go! Don't get too used to the two day update, I actually had chapter one written about a week ago so i had time to think on this one. But it didn't take too long. I'll update as regularly as I can!

                It had taken longer than he had expected to gather himself completely, hands shaking as he grabbed onto the wooden handle of the sliding shoji that protected him from the inside. Blocking him off from the rest of the building. It felt unusually heavy. He stood in the open doorway for a moment, staring down at the tatami mats along the floor, dirt gracing along the lines, no doubt from where his brother had walked not too long ahead of him. Briefly he wondered, had he turned around would he have seen him there. The thought made a weak smile tug at his lips, desperation clinging to the edges of his mind. There was another brief pause of thought before he crouched down at the open door and began removing his shin guards and clawed footwear, leaving only the leg wrapping and tabi on his shins and feet. His feet could have screamed with how good the cool breeze felt against the sweat saturated fabric of his tabi. He stayed crouched for a while, a bit longer than he felt he should have, but for that moment he couldn’t find the will to stand back up, tired brown eyes catching that dark blemish against his leg. He still hadn’t thought of a lie to conceal what had happened, hadn’t exactly had the desire to. He felt like running, turning tail and skipping dinner all together. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Hunger was more of an afterthought than any other bodily function he had, recently it had only gotten worse. Skipping meals all together, not finding it in himself to be able to sit next to his brother, to even be in the same room. The thoughts and emotions were always too strong, the voice in his mind always screaming about how weak he was. A coward.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought from his mind with a renewed vigor. He had to get himself together. He stood up, placing a measured step against the tatami mats one foot at a time. Just focus on your breathing -it was a line he found himself repeating over and over in his mind, trying to keep the anxiety driven voice at bay as he made his way across the fairly empty room and towards the other shoji. Hanamura was a large place, the home that was shared among the clan no different. Many of the rooms were left unfilled only dashed by the musings of their late mother, vases and traditional paintings placed in aesthetically pleasing locations. That thought struck another nerve, pain lacing through his mind and causing him to reflexively grab at his guarded forehead.

His hand lingered on the shoji’s handle, the hand pressed to the guard on his head sliding down, heel of his palm rubbing into his eye as he took another deep breath. It was going to be okay, just take it slow. His reassuring words were like a mantra that he found himself repeating over and over, mind grasping desperately onto the strings of what little self-assurance he could muster. It wasn’t all bad, he had grown to live with this. This dark, looming feeling. Those wolves that waited for him, lurking. It was intimidating, almost terrifying -but he was raised to be a warrior, despite the way his mind felt like shattered glass he would fight for himself, struggle to keep his head above water. He pulled back the shoji, his eyes scanning the hallway with an acute perception, ears trained for the sound of any kind of approaching footstep. He lingered, head halfway out the door before he decided that it was clear enough for him to put a move on. He took one cautious step out into the hardwood floor, the sound of his feet against the red oak was silent. He felt as if that were appropriate, moving unseen, no one knowing just exactly where he was. He felt like that often, as if he were invisible, a shadow. As if no matter how far he sank down or clutched his chest in agony no one noticed. Then again, wasn’t that exactly the way he wanted it?

He digressed from those thoughts quickly, his attention turning instead to the burning heat that still lingered in his hand, the wound from earlier having had no time to heal and no doubt he was leaving a bloody mess behind him, a trail that would no doubt lead some concerned patron right to his door step. Honestly he hated the idea, of being worried about, of having someone try to “fix” him. He knew what was wrong, knew how to fix it but that was too much of a childish dream, too much of a whimsical fantasy for him to even believe it could come true. The longer he lingered on that thought the quicker he felt himself falling back into that pit inside of his mind, feet now carrying him aimlessly down the hallway, too involved in his self-loathing to realize just how far he had gone. He absentmindedly counted his steps as he tried to avert his train of thought onto something other than his desire for his own brother, the taboo thought being drowned out by the repetition of: one…two…three... the counting always ended on ten, the light that blasted through the small wooden windows glared in his eyes with the red fire of dusk. The night was setting in fast, it always did, always when he found himself lost in his own thoughts. It never took anything for him to lose track of time when he was alone, hours spent staring at walls, or even talking to himself in the shower until the water ran cold. All of these things, and more, were infinite occasions. A warp of time that he felt himself unravel in.

When his eyes finally came into focus he realized that he was far from his room, far from the common place where everyone ate dinner together. Although, despite his many years in this empty castle he had no idea where he was. He took pause, let the air around him still. He had to get him head together. He thought briefly that this was so very unbecoming of a Shimada, that if anyone had seen him this way they surely would have disapproved. He already felt like a failure, he didn’t need to be lingering on those thoughts any more than he had to. Even with that thought in the front of his mind he still found the feeling of it lingering at the back of his skull, a burning that brought that pain back into the corners of his eyes.

“Kuso…” He cursed under his breath, voice shaky and hollow. It was a damn shame. He leaned against this foreign wall in the home he was supposed to know. What was this place? He felt like an injured bird, caged and tied to its perch. Trapped. Trapped by his own self-doubt and fear. How far was he supposed to run before he finally fell?

Tired, tear blurred eyes glanced up at the wall, the milky white of the walls was such a beautiful contrast to the dark red oak of the floors. _Gorgeous._ The thought ran through his mind once again and immediately the thought of long rave tresses filled his mind’s eye, cool piercing hazel eyes that matched his own staring down, loving smile plastered along his thin lips. Genji shook his head, dismissing the dangerous thought from his mind, no matter how much comfort it may have brought him it wasn’t worth thinking about. It only made it worse in the end.

\----

He felt like he had wandered those hallways for hours, having seen the same windows over and over again, honestly it felt like he was dreaming. At some point in his musing he had completely forgotten about his injured hand, the wound having been so clean cut by the blade that the skin had seemed to come back together rather quickly. It was almost like a paper cut. That thought made the young Shimada laugh, bitter and weak. He held his uninjured hand against his forehead and moved to brace himself against one of the windows in this damn endless hallway. The clouds were so full over the sky that it covered every speck of light that the eye could see. No stars, no moon, it was almost saddening. However, he thought absently that it was probably for the better tonight. Anyone who went out for late night training was bound to miss the stains he had left on the dirt and the shoji. Hopefully.

“Genji?” A voice alerted him, his ears practically perking up. Registering the voice and who it belonged to made fear and uncertainty rush from his heart to his stomach, knots tying in his gut and cotton shoved down his throat. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t turn his attention to the voice, couldn’t look upon him with his tired, tear burdened eyes. It would have been too much. He would have known.

“Genji! Where have you been?” This time that strike of fear was replaced with guilt. He had allowed his brother to leave thinking that he would be right behind him, had had him leave on a good note, had watched him walk away smiling. He wished he could have followed, wished he could have walked after him and sat down beside him at the table. The nauseating clawing in his stomach made him truly wish he had gone, hunger was a familiar demon to him, always lurking whenever he found himself stuck in these spirals. Despite himself, he didn’t answer, still didn’t even grace his brother with a look, he didn’t’ have the heart. The silence bit into the air like a wild dog, the teeth lacerating the sparrow’s heart wide open. He knew Hanzo was awaiting his response, could feel how his eyes stared into the side of his head, heard his quietly labored breathing. He was worried. Had been looking for him no doubt.

Shame.

Guilt.

They all flooded his mind, devoured every rational thought that he could manage to cling to, no matter what he wanted to say, that voice in his mind controlled him. It told him to keep quiet, hold his tongue. What was the use in speaking if you couldn’t even be true to yourself?

 “I know you can hear me-“ A sudden pause and then the pattering of footsteps closer to him, a sharp pain in his wrist as he was grabbed up. Finally, his gaze fell to the side, looking to where his brother now held him in a vice like grip. He was inspecting the wound on his left hand, his free hand lifting to trace along the wound. Instinct told him to flinch, to draw his hand away like an injured animal. But he resisted, teeth baring and brows furrowing.

“What the hell happened, Genji? What did you do?” Yes, Genji. What did _you_ do? What did you do _to yourself?_ Somewhere inside himself he knew that wasn’t what his brother had meant by his words, wasn’t what he had intended for it to sound like. However, the younger Shimada was so caught up inside himself that he could only relate those words to more self-hatred.

“I slipped.” His response was weak, tired brown eyes looking up to see the way his brother inspected his wound, only for his eyes to lock with that striking pair beside him. His words obviously hit a nerve. Though it seemed as though his brother was biting his tongue, not willing to call Genji out on his bluff. He wished he had. Deep down his truly wished his brother would have said something, pressed into his being, prying into him, demanding the answers he kept locked up.

“On your blade then?” His tone was cold, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard slip from his brother’s lips. And honestly it seemed that way. As Genji stared into that cold gaze his brother locked him in he couldn’t help but feel that helpless, trapped feeling all over again. It started in his chest as it always did, the hand that clenched onto his wrist wasn’t helping matters either. Hanzo’s hand was so hot against his skin, burning him with the temptation of sin. He wanted so badly to wrench it away. To run like the injured animal he was. Like a rabbit being crushed under the heavy paw of a wolf, all he could do was stare.

“Y-yes... On my blade, Anija. After you left I went to grab my katana and being foolish I dropped it and made a grab at it. I’ve been trying to remember where the first aid kits are.” The lie slipped past his lips as if it were nothing, like it was the easiest thing to do. To lie. To hide everything from his brother, to keep it all pent up inside. It was all he knew though, what else was he to do? He stared hard into the cold, calculated gaze that the other man gave him, perhaps it was just his imagination or wishful thinking that made him believe that he saw something in those eyes that pinned him to where he stood. He couldn’t place it, had no name for it, nor did he even trust himself to believe it. But he couldn’t shake the feeling.

A pause, weight holding down the room like the weight of the earth itself, crushing his chest and making it hard to breath. Like the air itself was liquid, he was drowning again, bricks leashed to his ankles as he tried to break the surface.

“You should be more careful, Genji, you are too reckless.” It was a shift. Hanzo’s voice went soft, the grip he had against the wrist of his injured hand loosening before ultimately letting him go. Setting him free. The wolf had lost its interest, found another objective. Still he knew he was not going to be left alone. Hanzo was too sharp for that, senses too keen for him to miss the way that Genji’s cheeks were just barely darkened from holding in those desperate sobs. His eyes faintly swollen just near the ducts, there was no mistaking the puffed-up face of his little brother. Another moment passed, just a swift one, eyes locking and the younger Shimada knew that he had been found out, perhaps not for the exact reasons but his brother knew he had been distraught about something. It was easy to guess, probably thinking it was from the wound, ever since he was little pain had always been something that Genji had despised.

“Oh. You’re right Anija, I’ll be sure to be more careful, I promise.” How empty were those words? That thought left a hollow spot in his chest.

“I’m glad to hear it, I won’t always be able to come to your rescue. You know that, correct?” The light scolding in the tone of his voice made Genji feel safe -loved. He only nodded in response, his uninjured hand moving to hold onto his arm. He was trying to close himself off. Hanzo wasn’t having that.

“I know where the first aid kit is, come with me. We’ll get you patched up.” Genji’s heart betrayed him, pulse that of an animal of prey. He fought himself when he felt his brother’s hand grab his own, uninjured one. Tugging at it until it was released from his arm and he was forced to follow his older brother.

The patter of their tabi against the hard wood was like music to his ears, a rhythmic noise that could set his mind at ease. The longer they walked the more comfortable Genji felt, eventually gaining up to Hanzo and standing at his side. Shyly he stood closer, pressing the curves of their shoulder’s together. He could feel the breeze as Hanzo turned his head to look at his little brother, a question raising across his face but it seemed like he couldn’t materialize the words for it. Briefly, Genji wondered what it could have been that he wanted to say. He wondered if perhaps he was uncomfortable by his closeness, if he was too old to pull the needy little brother card. He wished -hoped he wasn’t.

\---

It took a few more minutes of their time but it didn’t feel that long to Genji, he was far too content being able to take these silent moments with his brother. Even though being alone with him only drove those emotions deeper into his core, like a wedge that held a door wide open. He felt as though his brother could read every little thought that ran through his mind, every little idea that he could come up with. It felt that way but he told himself over and over that that just wasn’t the case. It was hard to find the ability to believe himself but, surprisingly enough, being near his brother made the voice in his mind calm down. He could actually have his thoughts to himself, able to enjoy the even breathing that they shared in the silence of their trek towards wherever Hanzo had decided to lead them.

Which he was surprised to find was his own room.

Fear shot up his spine like a hot knife. Electric to his core and all throughout his body, he couldn’t, that was too much. To be in his room? Alone. With him? Every inch of his body seemed to yell all at once in distress. It could not match the screaming in his head, the constant war that raged on being lit again by just the simple idea. Thoughts and some undesired, suppressed fantasies flashed like a lightening display through his mind. His body tensed, the hand that had been holding desperately onto Hanzo’s this entire time squeezing. He must have taken notice. If the look he gave Genji was enough to tell him anything. It was obvious. _He_ was being obvious. Oh no. Dread replaced his fear and he found himself grasping desperately to that calm that he had once known, tried to find it. His tired brown eyes shot around, trying to find anything to focus on other that the other man before him.

“Is something wrong?” Hanzo’s voice. It was all he could register. He was doing his best to keep it together, to make sure that he didn’t start breaking down. At this point he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, fear, or excitement that rushed through every vein in his body.

“No.” His voice came out harsher than he had wanted it to, but he did it mostly for himself. A defiant bite in his statement that had no context in their conversation but to himself it was the world. Kept him grounded. It seemed as though that word was enough for the other man though, a response to his statement never came and instead he felt that crushing loneliness fill that hole in his chest as their hands parted. He watched his brother’s back, the way the long strands of his hair -despite being tied back- seemed to flow with an unfelt breeze. He truly was _gorgeous_. And forbidden.

His mind was quick to chime in, quick to attack that thought, swallow it back down into the seething torrent of his own loathing. Another coal for the flames.

Hanzo’s back disappeared when he opened the door to his room and walked inside. He hadn’t shut it behind him, which was far too uncommon, his brother had the best upbringing and would never just unintentionally leave a door open. Genji inched closer to the open space, the faint scent of pine making his toes curl against the red oak. He could get used to that smell, have it engulf him until everything he owned was laced with it. Despite this thought he found it hard to keep himself on that single train of thought. As the sound of light footsteps grew further and further away his mind traveled down that road, of being engulfed. Of being _absolutely_ **devoured**. Tired brown eyes shot down to the floor, ashamed of the thoughts that now occupied his mind. Thoughts of having hands pressed against every curve and dip of his own body, lips and teeth fighting against an unmovable force. Heated skin pressed hard and heavy against his own. Suffocating. Enrapturing every fiber of his being and leaving his skin feeling like gold -conducting every electric shock his brother would be willing to give him. Every open-mouthed kiss, every blood laced bite into soft flesh, every-

“Genji.” His name broke him out of his daydream, his cheeks flushing red hot as his immediate thought was that he had been caught with his guard down. To his relief it was simply his brother’s voice from the back of his room. He managed to peer around the corner, that scent from earlier now hitting him with more force than before. His toes curled again.

“Yes, Anija?” Came his response. He felt like there may have been a crack in his voice, but honestly he was still too flustered from his daydream to have noticed.

“I can’t very well put a bandage on that wound if you’re in the hallway.” He sounded annoyed, but not mad. Genji could imagine what his face must look like, brows furrowed and lips pulled down in the slightest of pouts, like he was being denied something. The thought of his face made his own thin lips pull up in a soft smile, the image was quite amusing.

“Ah- Y-yeah… You’re right- I’m coming.” He made a point to move quickly, his feet lifting completely from the hardwood floor as he stepped through the doorway and onto the softer tatami mats of his brother’s room. Immediately he was engulfed in that scent of pine. It was cold and harsh, his mind flashing back to those woods he often found himself lost in inside his own mind, wolves at his heels. He was fearful, if only for a moment, realizing that he was now thoroughly in the wolves’ den now. Not that his brother himself was a threat to him, but his visage, just the sight of him was enough to bring the younger Shimada to his knees. Let alone having him alone like this. In his room. Surrounded by his scent.

“You were not raised in a barn, Genji.” That sharp scolding tone of his brother’s voice caught him off guard, leaving him to look behind him at the open door. He swallowed hard. The confident steps he had been taking towards the sound of Hanzo’s voice -which he realized had been coming from the bathroom- halted. He wanted him to close it. That jolt of fear turned to that overwhelming feeling of terror. If the door was shut- his mind halted, shutting down for that brief second before he realized that no matter how afraid he was he couldn’t freeze up right now, couldn’t get lost in himself lest he give his brother a reason to suspect him of something. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t live with that thought.

“Oh, hah- Sorry!” He gave a curt, forced laugh as if he truly were just being forgetful, when in all truth being trapped was something that he feared more than anything else. The beating of a rabbit’s thunderous heart threatening to burst as the wolf’s paw pressed down against its back.

He made his way back over to the door and closed it as quietly as possible, his mind blanking out, he had to stop thinking about it, had to keep himself calm enough so that it wasn’t suspicious. Hanzo was so good at reading him, at being able to tell when something wasn’t right. It was too obvious. He knew him too well. It was easy enough for Genji to know that his brother knew something was up, that he was putting on some kind of mask to hide himself, but Hanzo was just too reserved to bring it up. Whether that was a blessing or a curse Genji still couldn’t decide. He decided it was the latter.

As he turned on his heel from the door he could see his brother’s shadow on the wall of the bathroom. The walls inside were that god-awful orange that Hanzo seemed so fond of. Genji could have almost laughed at the thought of the color. It was so unfitting of his cold, quiet brother. As he came up to the doorway, though, he saw him in earnest. He was sitting on his haunches, opened first aid kit at his side and bandaged already laid out and folded neatly on the packaging. Was that sanitary? The thought fled from Genji’s mind as soon as he saw a hand reach up to him from where his brother was sitting, a soft smile crept across his thin lips as he allowed his hand to fall delicately into the palm offered to him.

“Come on, sit down you fool, don’t make this harder for me.” His tone was playful but distant, as if he were just as afraid as Genji to get close. That idea could have made the younger Shimada laugh. His brother felt no such way about him. That idea was easily made in the mind of a child and just as easily dismissed. However, he listened to what his brother had to say. He crouched down at first, the blood stain on his hakama sticking to his leg and peeling free of his skin with a rather gross feeling, like sunburned skin peeling back. His brown eyes averted to the open kit beside Hanzo’s leg, staring it down as if it were possessed and would do some kind of trick for him. Anything to keep his attention to.

“You really don’t have to do this for me, Anija, I could just do it myself.” He protested weakly, but still allowed his hand to be taken by his brother’s when he felt him make a grab for it. After what seemed like hours of waiting he finally felt the sting of peroxide hit his injured skin. The fizz of dying bacteria was loud enough that it drew Genji’s attention down to his hand. He watched, intrigued, as the solution did its job, cleaning his wound and taking care of what he couldn’t see. He wished there was something like that for his head. A simple solution to rid him of these feelings. Something to make that delicate touch against his wrist feel less like a burning desire and more like the platonic touch of a brother. Something to make the air they shared seem not so heavy, to make this silence that settled in not feel so looming. Something to deter these wolves in his mind. Something to…

“Genji.” He was caught thinking again. Hanzo knew he was spaced out, it that look on his face told him anything. His brows were knit close together, lips pulled in a flat line. He looked concerned. Shame washed over Genji’s being like a tidal wave, drowning him all over again. He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.

“Please promise me you’ll be more careful. I don’t-“ Genji could have choked, the way his brother cut himself off was a surprise. He always knew what he was going to say. What had stopped him?

“It is unbecoming of a Shimada to be so clumsy.” His heart jerked, a feeling of regret for his actions consuming him once again and for a moment he thought that he had felt his brother’s hand tighten on his wrist. His heart wanted his mind to believe that it was because that was not what his brother had truly wished to say, that he had halted himself and given a response that was to be expected. Wanted him to believe that Hanzo felt almost bad for such condescending words. But his mind wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t hear it. Was too encompassed by the sound of disappointment in his brother’s tone. He was a failure, always had been, nothing could change that.

“Yes brother, I understand.” His response was curt, cut short by the pain that circulated through his veins. Not even from his wound this time. Though he wished it had been.

Despite his thoughts he still found his eyes focused on his wound. The bubbling from the peroxide had faded and now his brother had a cotton ball pressed to the re-opened wound. The blood that slipped from the pale skin of his palm was hot, searing his flesh. He wished it could burn all of him. Turn him to ash. End this existence. Another cotton ball, this time doused in alcohol. It was pressed around the edges of the wound, cleaning the surrounding skin of any other lingering bacteria so that when he was bandaged there was no chance for infection. A Shimada’s hands were really all they had, it was what they lived by. The art of the sword, the way of the samurai, these were all things drilled into their minds since they were old enough to comprehend and speak, it would never change.

“It doesn’t seem like it is deep enough for stiches.” Hanzo spoke again but this time it sounded more like he was talking to himself rather than to Genji, that thought made another surge of pain lance his body. He wasn’t here now, was he? He almost laughed bitterly at the thought, almost. Hanzo had the bad habit of ignoring things whenever he was unsure of how to react to them. Genji guessed he couldn’t blame him, they were like two sides of the same coin, holding two very different, very dangerous coping mechanisms close to themselves. Genji’s eyes darted to his brother’s free hand, it grabbed the bandage he had pre-folded and sat next to himself, moving it to place it against the slice in his palm. The cotton was cool against his too heated skin, a feeling that would have been a relief was he able of feeling such a thing in this moment. Slowly but surely the gauze came into focus as Hanzo began to wrap it around his wounded hand. It was tight but not to the point of causing him any pain, not to where he wouldn’t be able to flex or grasp things. It was a fine dressing, Hanzo had definitely been practicing.

“Thanks.” Genji’s words were hollow, but he didn’t want them to be. He knew his brother didn’t have to do these things, didn’t have to take care of him as he did. But he couldn’t shake that weight on his chest the ever-looming feeling of dread and fear. He had no choice but to act distant. At least... for now. His mind wandered again, to all those dark places that he continued to hide in. No matter how gorgeous his brother’s light was he knew it was too forbidden to allow it to even cross his mind as a saving grace, that it was too far-fetched for him to believe that his brother could ever look at him in the same way.

Warmth spread across his entire body, a spark in his heart fanned into a raging fire. The weight of his injured hand lifted through the air and his eyes darted quickly to see what was being done to his injury if only for his eyes to be met with a sight that made his heart ache and his cheeks burn. Hanzo’s lips pressed delicately against the palm of his hand, against the fresh dressing, the action drove Genji to insanity. His chest felt like he was being suffocated, weight of that wolf’s paw pressing down so hard against his weak ribs, claws sinking in and blood tainting that soft white fur. He was helpless, melting into the action. He could have wept. His heart and mind conflicting with two different spectrums and reasoning’s behind the action. He couldn’t silence them, could only drown in it. The sounds around him ringing deaf in his ears as those lips parted from his bandaged skin and spoke to him. Sharp hazel eyes spearing him right through, the eyes of the wolf that haunted him in every dark corner of his mind.

“You’re welcome, _Otouto_.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr!   
> Spectralfossa.tumblr.com


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